


Hey There, Daddy Winchester

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Daddy Kink, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re a waitress at a diner that John frequents with his young boys, and while flirting with him, you call him daddy Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey There, Daddy Winchester

**_Based loosely on[THIS](http://dirtysupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com/post/148909986358) Imagine._ **

* * *

You didn’t have to turn around to see who just pulled up to the diner, the low-throated rumble of a 1967 Impala was a dead giveaway.

“Boys, don’t run,” John called after his children, nodding in apology to an elderly couple that Sam almost barged into.

As you came out from behind the counter, Dean and Sam were sliding into a booth, sweat-slicked skin sticking to the vinyl, making them fall flat on their faces as the youngest Winchester gave a toothless giggle.

You placed two kids menus with crayons in front of the boys before handing a regular menu to John. “Well hey there, Daddy Winchester,” you breathed, throwing him a wink as you tucked some hair behind your ear. “Coffee, black?” Even with as tired as he looked, the man was sexy as hell, and it took everything you had not to get lost in his chocolate eyes.

He returned your wink before answering, “Please, sweetheart.”

For some reason, you gave his shoulder a squeeze as you passed him by, probably because you felt like you were going to melt into a puddle. Then again, you always felt like that when he talked to you. The gruff timber of his voice dotted your skin with goosebumps, made your heart skip a beat, made a shiver run down your spine.

You returned a few moments later. “Two apple juices for the boys and a coffee for their daddy. Now, what can I get you to eat?” From the corner of your eye, you saw John’s shoulders tense, even under the brown leather jacket he seemed to always be wearing.

The order was the same; pancakes and bacon for the kids, four eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns for John. But this time, John grabbed your wrist before you could walk away to give the order to the kitchen. Calloused tips stroked the inside of your wrist, and when he looked up at you through thick black lashes, it damn near took your breath away.

“Go out with me,” he rasped, no question in his tone. It wasn’t the first time he asked you out.

“I better get your order in. I know how kids get when they’re forced to wait.” Goosebumps spread like wildfire as soon as his hand scraped away. You worked hard to ignore the ache deep in your gut that pulsed in time with your heart.

Why you kept ignoring John’s requests, you didn’t really know. He was damn sexy and you could tell just by looking at him that he knew how to please a woman, and fuck, it had been so long since you had been pleased.

While their food cooked, you tried to stay busy, but that proved to be difficult when your remaining tables paid their bills and left. Thankfully, the order was up just as you were about to ask if they needed refills.

Dean and Sam all but dove face first into their plates, sending bits of bacon and drops of syrup onto the table. “Easy, boys,” John warned.

The boys looked up at you with wide eyes, as if you would save them from their father. You all out giggled and held your hands up. “Don’t look at me. You better listen to your daddy.” Again, John’s shoulders shifted under the leather. You wondered if it was a nervous tic, but judging by the way his eyes darkened, you began to suspect that something more was going on.

You were going through the pies, seeing which trays were empty and needed restocking when John approached, clearing his throat to get your attention. The only time a customer would approach the counter was to complain or settle their tab. John didn’t have his receipt.

“Everything ok with your food?” You wiped your whip cream dotted hands onto your apron.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over you. “Perfect, as always.”

“Well, what can I do for you? Maybe a slice of apple pie for Dean, he seemed to like it well enough last time.” You had already started to pull out the pie tin from the display, but John shook his head.

“Why won’t you go out with me? Is it cuz I got kids?”

Your mouth went dry at his question. Never had he pushed the matter, it was all just harmless flirting, right? You looked over at the booth and smiled when Sammy held up a pudgy hand and waved.

“No, John, it’s nothing like that.” Truly, it wasn’t. A single man with kids didn’t bother you the slightest, even one that still wore his wedding ring. He loved his kids, you could see that just by the way they interacted. Sure, he was a bit short with them at times, but what parent wasn’t?

“I’ll just keep askin’,” he muttered through a smirk. When he tilted his head and said please, your resolve to not get involved with any customers melted away.

Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you nodded. You had seen John smile numerous times before today, but this one was different than all the others; it actually reached his eyes, surrounding them with deep lines that looked insanely good on him.

“Tonight ok?”

“I work until seven.”

Crimson colored his cheeks as he smiled. “I’ll be here at 7:30.”

* * *

You lived in an apartment building behind the diner, so at exactly seven p.m., you clocked out and sprinted across the weed-ridden lot. You showered, blew dry your hair, and after pinning it up, you grabbed the only dress you owned and finished getting ready.

John pulled up at exactly 7:30, but not in the Impala. A black and blue [motorcycle](https://www.tradebit.com/usr/pbookpd/pub/9002/168121030_SuzukiGS850GMotorcycleServiceRepairManual1980198119821983.jpg) eased to a stop mere feet from where you were standing. It was loud, but not obnoxiously so, and fuck, if John didn’t look good straddling it.

After turning it off, he asked, “Is the bike ok? I can go back and get-”

“The bike is just fine, John.” The bike was more than just fine. You had always wanted to ride one, but never got the opportunity, and what better man to do it than with John Winchester.

One hand on his shoulder and the other holding your dress, you straddled the leather seat and tucked your dress under your thighs so it wouldn’t get caught in the tires. John grabbed your hands and pulled them around his sides until your breasts were firmly pressed against his shoulder blades. He pressed your hands against his chest and stomach, glancing at you over his shoulder and wearing a cocky smirk.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He waited until after you confirmed you were indeed ready to start the bike. The rumble was thick, deeper than the Impala, and it made every inch of you vibrate, which only added to the tension between your legs.

You wanted to ask where he was driving to, but it was damn hard to focus on anything that wasn’t John Winchester. He must have showered because you could smell the cheap shampoo and spicy cologne he applied to his neck. His chest and stomach were solid beneath your touch, every muscle twitching as the he maneuvered the bike through town. With your thighs against his, every time he shifted gears or stopped at a light, his muscles would flex, shifting against yours in a way that had your mind wandering.

Having lived in Sioux Falls almost your entire life, you thought you knew every inch of the town; apparently you didn’t. John coasted down a dirt path that had knee-high grass on both sides; which you couldn’t help but reach out and touch. It was softer than it looked. There was a picnic table just ahead, set up next to the lakeshore. The closer you got, the more you could see; blue tablecloth, a wicker basket in the middle, and several mason jars with unlit candles inside.

John waited until you descended before killing the engine. He then pushed back on the bike, popping out the kickstand from beneath it. You smoothed out the wrinkles that crinkled your dress and ran a hand over the top of your head, pushing down the strands that had blown free.

“When did you get to do this?” You couldn’t imagine how busy he was with two little boys.

He was smiling as he stood by you. “The boys are stayin’ with a friend.”

The weight of his hand fell to the small of your back as the two of you walked to the table. Nothing about his touch felt forced or uncomfortable. In fact, everything about this felt…right. Almost as if his hand had been made just for you. If it felt that good just on your back, you couldn’t imagine how amazing it would feel everywhere else. You had to work on suppressing a heated shudder as it threatened to roll down your spine.

Dinner was exactly what you wanted; cold soup, turkey on rye, and salad from the bistro down the road from the diner, all accompanied by a bottle of red wine.

You were smirking when John interrupted your thoughts. “What’s goin’ on in that head a’yers?”

“I’m just picturing what you looked like ordering all of this.”

His face fell slightly. “You don’t like it?’

Shaking your head, you covered his hand with yours. “John, it’s great. I love it.”

Turning his hand over and dragging his fingers along your wrist, John shot you a playful wink. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

Conversation was easy between you two; you weren’t left trying to figure out what to say next, there were no uncomfortable, pregnant pauses, it all felt so damn right. After dinner, you helped John put everything but the warm jars into the basket. While they cooled, John took your hand, and the two of you walked around the lakeshore. You would playfully bump his shoulder with yours, he threatened to pick you up and throw you in the lake, and you chit-chatted about your likes and dislikes. By the time you circled the lake, the moon had emerged, driving a slight chill through the night.

The picnic leftovers were stored into a saddle bag behind your seat before John handed you the jacket that had been stuffed inside, the jacket that he always seemed to be wearing when he came into the diner.

“You sure you won’t get cold?”

He stood in front of you and draped it over your shoulders. “Not with you behind me.” While you shoved your arms into the sleeves, John carefully buttoned it, not wanting to risk touching you in a way you might disapprove of. Not that you would, but he didn’t know that.

You pushed up to your tiptoes and kissed him softly, his stubble scratching your chin and fingertips as they brushed along his jaw. It didn’t come as a great surprise that John moved to deepen the kiss, but you gasped nonetheless. Wide, calloused fingertips bit into the back of your neck as he pulled you closer, his other hand weighing heavily on your hip. He tasted like cheap, bitter wine, smelled like faded cologne and engine grease, felt solid and thick like a tree trunk. All of those things and more, but your mind gave up trying to dissect it all and went foggy, drunk off the taste and sounds that John Winchester was making as you kissed.

Hands buried in his hair, you pulled back and found yourself staring into lust-blown eyes, knowing yours mirrored his. “I should get you home,” the low timbre of his voice made goosebumps explode down your spine.

Home. Yes. That sounded great. Because at home, you had a bed.

After another kiss -this one a little sweeter and gentler than the last-, he mounted the bike, pushed the kickstand back, and started it with a turn of the key. He waited until your arms were tight around his waist before taking off. 

* * *

John, hands on your hips and ass, tongue in your mouth, thick thigh between your legs, had you pressed against the door. You were grabbing at him, trying to pull him closer, rutting against his leg as if you were some horny teenager making out for the first time.

Your head fell back as John’s mouth moved to your neck, charcoal stubble scraping your skin. You panted his name, “We should uh… probably stop. I… I’m sure those boys a- a- are missing their daddy.” Hot breath fanned down the front of your dress as John rolled his body into yours. He was all hard lines and edges, the bulge in his jeans pressed against your belly, and the chances of you coming undone right there were extremely high.

John’s tongue was hot on your neck before he raggedly whispered, “Say it again.” Every suspicion you had before tonight were just confirmed. You forced him to look at you by grabbing the hair on his crown and tugging none-too-gently.

His kiss-swollen lips were parted and his tongue was playing between his teeth when you ground out the one word that made him hard as a fucking rock, “Daddy.” How the door became unlocked and thrown open was beyond your comprehension. Everything that happened outside of kissing and pawing at John was inconsequential.

Clothes and shoes were thrown to the floor, creating a trail from the door to the bedroom. With John settled between your legs, you laid back on the bed; back arching, gasping his name as his mouth wrapped around a dusky nipple, thick fingers tugging and twisting the other, thighs shaking, nails raking over his broad shoulders.

As his hips rocked, sliding his thick length through your dripping folds, you reached over to nightstand and tugged open the drawer. Condom acquired, John raised up and sat back, watching with anticipation as you sat up, tore open the foil wrap, and, after tossing the package into the small trash can, gripped his perfectly thick, slightly curved cock and rolled the condom into place.

A long drawn-out curse fell from his lips before he kissed you, rougher and more demanding than before. To keep from scratching him too deep, you fisted the thin blanket as he pushed into you agonizingly slow. Whether to draw out the sensations or to keep from blowing his load, you didn’t know. Hell, you didn’t fucking care. All you cared about was the pulse of his cock, how the thick vein on the underside of it throbbed in time with his heart, the slow, heavy drag against your wet heat as your body fluttered around him, pulling him deeper.

John broke from the kiss and dropped his head so he could watch as you surrounded him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

Knowing exactly what it would do the man above you, you wrapped your legs around his waist, forced him to look at you, and commanded, “Fuck me, daddy.” You hadn’t yet adjusted to his girth, but you didn’t really want to either; you wanted that extra bite of pain to go with the pleasure.

John Winchester growled deep in his throat, slid an arm under your back, and grabbed your shoulder before obeying your command. Every thrust was echoed by a wet slap, a satisfied grunt as air was forced from two sets of lungs, or a raspy curse. Every drag of his cock was gloriously torturous, the way his wide cock-head all but slammed into your g-spot, making static burst in your ears. His hand was tight on your shoulder, pulling you into him with each controlled thrust of his hips.

Wide, fingernail marred shoulders bowed, and his mouth was on your neck and shoulder, blasting hot breath on your skin as he grunted, grinding out your name and cursing, telling you how tight and wet you were, that he’d wanted you since the first time he saw you, how fucking perfect you were. Your entire body pulsed, as if it were one giant nerve that was being stroked, deliciously fucked into the mattress, being praised in a way that you never knew existed, that you never knew you needed.

It was when John bit and sucked your shoulder, marking you as his, that you came. Hard. It felt like a flash grenade went off in your mind; static exploded, leaving a ringing sound behind that would have bothered you if you weren’t screaming his name like a fucking mantra. Your thighs shook and every nerve felt as if it were being touched by lava.

You were vaguely aware that your hands were on his ass and you were pulling him to you harder and harder, asking… no, telling John to, “Cum with me, daddy.” And he did just that. He sat back and grabbed your thighs, pushing them down, spreading them wide so he could watch as he fucked you.

His thrusts became less controlled as he saw your cum on his cock, the opaque substance spilling out of your pussy and onto the blanket; it was thick on the black curls at the base of his cock, and fuck, he could smell just how bittersweet it would taste on his tongue. John bit his bottom lip and his head lolled back as he came, grunting as his cock pulsed, your pussy squeezing, milking his cock, trying to draw out the sensations for the both of you just a little longer.

Making sure not to crush your legs, John fell to his back and lay there gasping for air. Your body still tingled and buzzed, slowly coming down from the most intense high you’ve ever had. Once your heart wasn’t beating wildly, you stood on very shaky legs and disappeared into the bathroom to clean up. You washed your face and legs, brushed your hair, and pulled on your robe. When you came out, John was buckling his belt.

“Have to get home?” You hadn’t expected him to spend the night, but that didn’t mean you weren’t disappointed.

His shirt was next, which you slid your hands onto his sides moments before the soft cotton whispered over your knuckles. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s late and I sort of promised the boys I’d take ‘em to the park first thing after breakfast.”

“Aren’t you an attentive daddy?” you asked, swaying your hips against him.

His chest vibrated as he growled your name, “I gotta get back.”

You winked playfully, swatting his ass at the same time. “Says you.” You turned around and headed towards the bed to change the sex-dampened sheets.

The last thing you heard him say was, “Fuck it,” before strong hands were on your hips and you were being thrown onto the bed.


End file.
